The Nightmare
by The Sunflower Seed
Summary: It's the anniversary of the escape from Guertena's gallery. Instead of celebrating with Ib, he's by himself. What will transpire? T for safety.


**Hi guys. I'm sorry for my very long absence. It's becoming more difficult writing with college and my personality disorder. Also I get randomly addicted to random fandoms. For now, the one which has caught my heart is Ib. I couldn't help myself. I had to write this. A great song which goes with this is Puppet: Mary's Theme a vocal cover by Lizz Robinett. Please enjoy. Signing Off: The Sunflower Seed**

 **P.S. I put the song on repeat for a very long time.**

* * *

A young man sat at his easel, his eyebrows furrowed in frustration. Usually his creativity was abundant and he could easily paint the abstract and the contrasting subject matter. Tonight was special as well, the anniversary of his adventure with Ib. Garry sighed as he remembered the little girl, she was so full of strength and courage. Her red eyes like rubies and brown hair as though it was made of silk.

Moonlight was the only source of light as it streamed into the loft apartment, revealing the dark red brick with mortar slowly rotting away. His bed stood not a few feet away with bed covers strewn about. A couple snapshots of Guertena's artwork decorated the wall that his bed resided next to. Sure after his misadventure, he should've rid of them as some of the artwork linger in his nightmares but there were a few which had caught his eye and weren't trying to kill him. Such as "Fabricated World", it was the exit out of the macabre world of art and where he nearly forgot his adventure with Ib.

Now that he thought about it, how was Ib doing? The young man had only visited her three months ago and he felt a little bit lonelier since then. Ib had grown into a lovely ten-year-old like the rose she obtained in Guertena's world of art. Garry shook his head, trying to rid the thought of the girl. The age barrier didn't help with the visits as Ib's parents thought Garry was too old for Ib.

"Great," Garry muttered, raking his shaky hand through his lavender hair, "this is going to plague me for a very long time." He looked at the small clock on the nightstand, propped by many books about Guertena's work and other miscellaneous artists. It was currently nine-forty-five. How long had he been staring at the blank canvas?

"I accomplished nothing today. Even better for my sanity!" He rambled aloud, removing himself from the easel and flopped onto his bed, staring at the white ceiling. Water stained the white ceiling with yellow tinted edges like watercolor on soaked paper.

Waves of fatigue slowly washed over his body. Fear seeped into his mind. Garry tried to move or look elsewhere only to find himself paralyzed.

'What is going on?!' Garry tried to speak and found he couldn't verbally speak but only inside his mind. Something was crawling up his leg, pricking his skin at the same time through his jeans! Panic was rampaging through his mind as his eyes found thorns encircling his legs as they slowly made their way up his waist. Garry's eyes widened with terror as the thorns started sprouting yellow roses.

'No! Not her!' A light laughter assaulted his mind as a thorn vine slammed into Garry's mouth, thorns tearing apart the inside of his throat. Pain made his vision turn white and suddenly it went dark.

* * *

He could hear footsteps. Small and delicate. A sudden rush of warmth replaced the cold pain experienced at the hands of the thorns.

"Here Garry, I got your rose!" Oh no! Garry opened his eyes to the shined black shoes and stared up at the last person he wanted to see: Mary. Cold sweat beaded down his forehead as she held a very bright blue rose. Her eyes were filled with glee as she daintily plucked a rose petal off. Garry took a deep ragged inhale as his heart seemed to have exploded in his chest.

"Stop!"

"He loves me…" Another pull and Garry scrambled to get onto his feet only to feel pain destroy his lungs next, he clawed at his own throat in a desperate attempt to open his throat for air. By the time the rose was at three petals, Garry laid in defeat, waiting for Mary to finally kill him.

'This is the end. I can't move, can't speak, and I left my lighter in my coat.' A tear slipped down his cheek.

Mary had gone silent. Why was she so quiet? Usually she was a chatterbox even when she lost her sanity and revealed her true self. It was unnerving. He felt himself being turned on his back. A small hand pushed his bangs from his eyes in an attempt to stare into them. For once, Garry was glad he was near death so Mary wouldn't have the satisfaction of seeing the light fade from them.

"Garry, why didn't you stay with me? Or even better, why didn't you let me out with Ib?"

'I can't exactly answer you when I'm near death.'

"Go get the vase."

'What?'

"You heard me Doll. Go fetch it."

Garry involuntarily stiffened. Those dolls gave him the creeps! They were freakishly blue and poorly assembled. He nearly lost his life in that room when he was temporarily separated from both girls. Slowly the warmth returned as Garry opened his eyes to Mary watching his rose bloom steadily until there were only five petals instead of ten. He propped onto his elbows. Weakness was present as Garry's vision blurred and distorted until he stared at Mary, her golden hair long and beautiful, her body absent of her fiery death.

The little doll wearing the pink dress tugged on the hem of Mary's dress. She giggled and held out Garry's rose to the creepy thing, "You're right, Garry shouldn't have his rose back." It hugged the rose tightly to its chest and hid behind Mary.

'What is going on?'

"Garry, answer my question." Mary whined impatiently, glowering at Garry.

"What?"

"I asked why you didn't let me go home with Ib?"

"You're a painting!"

"You could've taken my place as a painting. People would've admired you."

A sharp pain erupted from his chest and Garry clenched the area, his fingernails digging into the olive green tank top. There was a high pitched giggle, "Gosh darn it Doll! You shouldn't hurt him! That's if he doesn't answer my questions!" A small pool of blood soaked through the material on his shirt.

"Am I going to die?" Garry asked voice ragged. Pain was the answer. Massive agony tore through his body as the doll ripped all the petals off at the same time.

* * *

It changed. Garry woke up to a bright sun overhead in a garden filled with yellow roses.

"Oh no, is it another part of Mary's world?" He groaned sitting up. It didn't look like Guertena's exhibit it looked like the world he belonged to. Maybe not the massive garden with a massive villa but it was the world of the living. A memory perhaps? It had the blurred effect of a flashback from TV shows.

"What is this place?" No one answered. Garry felt reenergized and got back on his feet. It was lovely outside and a different change from the scenery along with the company. He walked to a fountain where a man sat, painting at his easel. He had blonde hair and was very lean. Hey actually he looked like, "Guertena?"

The artist looked up at the lovely lady with lavender hair and dark eyes, holding a sleeping toddler with matching hair. Garry could only stare back in astonishment. Was he related? A glimpse of the painting showed a girl with long golden hair and a bright yellow rose.

* * *

A light shake roused him from his slumber. Garry was dismayed he didn't stay to explore more about the memory. His eyes fluttered open to the brick wall and he flipped onto his other side to stare up at his landlord.

"Garry, this came for you. Police said it was urgent." Garry grabbed the letter and a journal from the landlord's hand as the man hurried out. Was it necessary to wake him? Then again, he didn't want to encounter Mary and that damn doll.

A shutter from Garry as he opened the letter first, laying the leather journal on the pillow next to him. In calligraphy it read, "Garry Maras". With hesitation, Garry opened the envelope and pulled out a letter.

 _Dear Garry Maras,_

 _You may not know me at all and that is fine. I didn't expect you to know me_

 _until I have passed away. My name is Alexander Weiss, your biological_

 _father. I gave you up for adoption when your mother died as I had no means_

 _to support you. You are the only one left in this family who is alive and_

 _directly related to the artist Guertena Weiss. In my will I have left all my_

 _possession's along with your grandfather's possessions including his famous_

 _artwork to you. The journal I have provided is from your grandfather as he_

 _worked on his paintings and it will give you an idea of your biological family._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Alexander Weiss_

* * *

Garry stared in shock at the letter. He was the grandson of the famous Guertena? His gaze turned to the journal and snatched it up, thumbing to the year of Mary's creation which was shortly before Guertena's death. He found the entry and read it over.

 _Before I leave this world, I have split my soul into the very paintings I have created. Especially my precious Mary. I have hidden the painting specifically for the reason I do not trust my son Alexander. Ever since I told him about how my precious angel wasn't created but was produced a son instead, he has become jealous of the painting. In all honesty, Alexander was only a means to keep Lydia by my side for she wanted a son. I have seen Alexander and his grandson whom will soon be put up for adoption very soon. He looks so much like his father. I cannot dwell anymore on the idea of never seeing my grandchild nor on the idea of my daughter living while I die. Hopefully I split my soul correctly so my precious Mary can live._

Garry's eyes widened in realization of Mary: she was supposed to be an aunt in his family but instead only his father was created. With a sigh, Garry walked over to his coat and grabbed his lighter. To the stove in the corner, he opened the little hatch and started the wood inside. He stared at the leather book in his hand for a minute as the wood finally kept the flames blazing. It was becoming too much with the mere memory of Mary let alone the nightmares of her. With determination, Garry slid the leather journal into the stove and closed the hatch. It sounded as though a little voice screamed faintly from the stove. Maybe he was finally rid of Mary. Maybe he would no longer have to worry about her killing him.

For once, he was at peace.


End file.
